The Last Time
by pieanddeductions
Summary: Jem followed Will more than once. Night after night, he would walk with Will, a silent companion in the dark. Then came the last time; when Will stopped walking, and Jem could not remain silent any longer.


**Will/Jem one shot that I wrote ages ago. Quite dark. Hope you like it! **

**Remember way back when Jem told Tessa that he'd followed Will once, when he went out at night?**

…

* * *

It was not in the nature of James Carstairs to lie- least of all to a young lady. He was too respectable a man, too honest, as it were. Yet it cannot have been said that he had been telling the truth when he told Tessa that he had once followed Will on his night-time walk, for he had not done it once.

No, Jem had followed Will far more frequently than that. Night after night, as Will left the Institute under the cover of darkness, Jem had pulled on his coat and walked after him, always quiet, always careful to stay in the shadows, lest Will should see him there. It was not that he was in search of answers. He never felt he needed an explanation from Will- and he certainly didn't mean to demand one of him. There was simply something so utterly fascinating about it all that made it impossible for him to stop. Will had never been a quiet person, or a modest one- yet for all his words, Will never said much at all. Somehow, by following after his footsteps along beside the Thames in the dark and rain, Jem felt that he was finally gaining some sort of truth from his parabatai. Besides, it was what he had sworn to do- to go wherever Will went.

Sometimes Will walked longer than others. Sometimes he stopped short and returned home. Each time, Jem would just watch him from afar, trailing him in the way only a good Shadowhunter could, and in the morning, he would emerge with the pretence of a good night's sleep. It never mattered. Not until the last time.

* * *

It was raining then- Jem remembered. Ever since he had arrived in London, it seemed that the rain never really stopped, so it was hardly an unusual occurrence- hardly worth remembering. Yet Jem needed only close his eyes to feel once more the precise cold and wet feeling of that _particular_ rain; to shiver as the chill in the air made his breath visible like smoke in the air. It was the coldest that Jem had ever been, yet Will had appeared not to feel it. He had no coat on, nor a hat, or gloves, as he approached the Blackfriar Bridge that night, but this too was not unusual, for Will barely ever cared to dress sensibly in harsh weather, and he visited the bridge on numerous occasions, as well. Sometimes, he would even stop and stare out across the Thames for a while in silence, a look about him that told Jem that he was thinking about something either truly wonderful or truly awful, or maybe both at once. Yet never before had he been quite so close to the edge. Never before had he stood still for quite so long. And never before had he begun to climb over to the very ledge of the bridge.

Jem started when Will, drawing in a long, ragged breath, put one foot on the gate of the bridge, swinging the other over to the open side, leaving no barrier between himself and the Thames below him. Each movement was very precise, planned. There was no scurrying or panic or hesitation, not even as he drew himself up to his full height and looked down at the water beneath him, black in the night. This was something that Will had thought through well- and Jem hated it even as he thought of it. Hated that his parabatai could possibly have planned something like…this, while Jem was in his life. Hated that only that day they had been sparring, and all Will would talk about was how he was so much better at Jem with the throwing daggers and how disappointingly weak Agatha had made his tea at breakfast- that that was what he would have been left to remember him by.

"What kind of a goodbye was that, William?" he spoke quietly, but not so quietly that Will would not hear him. His shoulders tensed, and Will froze where he was, not turning around. Jem shook his head, taking a few uncertain steps closer.

"Jem."

"Were you even going to leave a note?" Jem asked- without accusation, without anger- for Jem could never truly be angry with Will.

"A letter," Will cleared his throat. "I left it in a book- in my room. I supposed you would find it eventually."

_A letter_. Jem felt suddenly hollow. In his mind's eye, he imagined himself waltzing into Will's chambers, completely oblivious, and finding that letter waiting, addressed to him.

There was a long silence between the two of them then, with nothing but the rain giving any indication that the world was in fact still functioning as normal around them. Jem's heart was racing, his veins burning for yin fen, the cold air stinging his skin. Everything about this felt wrong to him- like something terribly out of place. Like waking up from a nightmare only to realise that what awaits you in the waking world is even worse. This, to Jem, was Even Worse in every sense of that phrase. This was worse than the dreams in which he was not strong enough or fast enough to protect Will from the demons- those series of recurring dreams that would wake him in the middle of night in a pool of sweat and tangled bedsheets crying out in relief when he realised that it was just a dream, after all. This was worse than the times he had thought about Will's fate after the drug took his life- whether he would ever be alright again, whether he would be alone, whether he would open up to anybody, ever again. This was worse than all of those things, because even in Jem's worst nightmares, the thing that kept them apart was inevitable and accidental; something external and terrible that neither one of them wanted. Yet there, on that bridge, on that night when the rain smelled like tar and acid, he saw that this was Will's own choice. What Jem feared most of all was what Will wanted.

"How could you do this," Jem found himself whispering. "Will…_how_-"

"You would be alright, James. Eventually, you would be alright." He sounded calm, still- as though he was the one who was rational and sane, and Jem was the one being ridiculous and dangerous.

"Do not presume to speak for me," Jem said tightly. "We may be parabatai, Will, but if that is truly what you believe, then you do not know me at all."

"Jem," Will said again, voice uneven. His hands were clamped across the rails behind him, shoulders shaking.

"What are you doing, Will?" Jem's own voice was very soft. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Did you follow me here?" Will's tone was colourless.

"I wanted to know where you go. I know you don't really go to the tavern, Will. I've always known that. You are not so good a liar as you think."

"I'm an excellent liar," Will said shortly.

"Not to me," Jem said. "You should have known that you cannot lie to me." Jem took another tentative step closer. He was directly behind Will now, so close that he could feel his warmth through the rain. "Turn around Will. Take my hand. I will not allow you to jump tonight."

"You'd be making a mistake, then," Will said. "Jem, you don't understand-"

"What you've been through? What you_ are_ going through? Because I know I don't, William. But-"

"You don't understand how_ bad_ I am," Will burst out. "For you, for everyone. You don't understand that if you don't let me do this, I will stay, and I will live, and I will destroy _everything_."

"Then I will destroy it with you," Jem said simply. "Will_, please."_ He held out his shaking hand for Will to take, silently begging him to do so. Will turned his head slightly to stare numbly at Jem's hand, a look of unspeakable horror in his eyes, as though it were a poisoned knife that Jem offered him instead of a helping hand.

"I swore," Jem swallowed hard, "I swore to go wherever you go, Will. So if you stay, I will stay with you, and if you destroy everything, I will destroy it with you, and if you let go now, and if you die, then _I will die with you_." Suddenly, Jem dropped his hand, and instead used it to steady himself as he clambered over the fence, to stand on the edge beside Will.

"What are you doing?" Will said, horrified, and he tried to grab Jem, to push him back over.

"Stop," Jem said icily, and he landed on the edge, grasping to the rails, as he turned to look at Will. "It is your choice, William. I will not dispute it.."

"This is madness," Will hissed, furious. "You would risk your own life-"

"Of course I would," Jem snapped. "I always would, and I always will. Why is that such a difficult thing for you to believe, Will? Do you truly think yourself so awful that nobody could ever care for you- miss you? Because the Angel knows, you try to make that your reality, Will. But I am here, and I care, and I cannot believe that you would insult me so much that you had the nerve to leave me nought but a _letter_- really, Will? Letters are for business matters- old friends who have lost contact. Is that all I am to you? Is that all?"

"James," Will said, his lips blue from the cold. He was staring at Jem, face alight with the strangest combination of wonderment and pain. "My James Carstairs. Do you even need to ask?" Jem opened his mouth to say something, but his words became lost in his mind, for in that moment, Will leaned forward, and suddenly he was kissing him, and neither one of them needed or had the words to describe what that meant, what it felt like. Will's mouth was cold, but Jem's were warm still, and the rain that flavoured their kisses might have been tears, they were so close. Will let go of the rail with one hand, if only to draw Jem closer, never breaking the kiss, his mouth moving slowly, never hesitating or apologising for what he felt when at last he drew back for air, inhaling sharply and heavily and he stared at Jem, his expression completely open and vulnerable for once, eyes wide and blue. Jem paused for only the shortest of moments. Then he wrapped his arms around Will, leaning against the rail and allowing his parabatai to lean on him, resting his head on Jem's shoulder as his whole body shook.

"You are the only one, Jem. The only one who knows- but _I can't_." Will whispered coarsely in his ear, his lips brushing against his skin there. "I can't keep pretending, not feeling anything- God, it drives me insane, and it's dangerous, because I _shouldn't_- I shouldn't have done that, Jem. I shouldn't be saying this to you, because it's not safe. Not for you…Jem, if I ever hurt you, if it was my _fault_-"

"I don't want you to ever worry about putting me in danger, Will," Jem said softly, holding Will close to him. His whole body was freezing cold. "I want you to know that everything I do, I choose to do it, and there is nothing you can do to change that."

"I remember what it felt like," Will said in a very small voice. "To have a choice."

"Will?" Jem said, confused. Then, "Will, you're freezing. Surely you could have worn a coat."

Will laughed then, without much humour. "I didn't suppose I'd have to suffer the cold for very long."

"I am afraid you will have to suffer it just a little longer on the way back to the Institute," Jem said. Again, he offered Will his hand. This time he was met, not by thin air, but by a weak handshake. And he laughed. Laughed like he had never laughed before, and never would again.

Then he coaxed Will back, back to the dirty streets, away from the edge. So often before, he had seen himself as doing this: guiding Will away from some terrible ledge that threatened to swallow him whole. Now that he was really doing it, he felt numb.

* * *

Every step the other man took away from the bridge was enough to make Jem want to cry with relief. For Will, each step felt dangerous- as though heading back home was the wrong option- the Bad thing to do. But he looked at Jem, and he kept on walking.

They didn't go back straight away. They walked- neither of them saying a single word- until the haze around them turned from dark grey to a morning orange blaze. When they finally returned to the Institute, they both smelled like the tar in the Thames.

It was the night they never talked about. The night that, as far as anybody else was concerned, had never happened at all. But Jem remembered it with a fierceness- each detail preserved with frightening clarity in his mind, and in his song; for he had worked tirelessly upon his return with his violin, composing something new and beautiful and more awful than anything he had written before. When he closed his eyes and played, he could see it all again. The Thames, the dark, the rain, Will.

He played it every day. Sometimes, when Will walked by and listened, he could have sworn that, when he heard it, he could see it all too.

Will on a ledge. Jem on a ledge. Will and Jem on a ledge together- neither letting the other one fall.

* * *

Please review! Thank you.


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